Storm Shelter
by Lala Kate
Summary: An unexpected call on a rainy afternoon leads to an invitation that could change everything.


_A one-shot in fulfillment to a prompt on tumblr. I hope you enjoy it! And I think you know by now I don't own M or M, but they still reside so close to my heart. :)_

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She didn't know which was louder, the crack of lightening or the pounding of her heart, but she couldn't move, her feet numb, her lips glued together as he stood there, dripping on to the plush carpet lining the hallway, his hat in his hand, his eyes fixed on her.

"Mary," he breathed, and her lungs ceased to function, her stomach plummeting to her knees with one simple word. She could only nod in response, speech lost to her as memories crashed into every available space in her mind.

"May I come in?" he questioned, and she stepped back in embarrassment, wishing she'd had time to prepare herself, wondering if such a feat was even possible anymore. How must she look to him now, she questioned—older, more cynical, and twice divorced?

Hardly the girl she'd been on that bench decades ago, too full of herself and uncertain of life.

"Please," she managed, and he tossed her a grin that struck her in places neither Richard nor Tony had been able to touch. Cool hands trembled as they reached out to take his wet coat.

"I've got it," he assured her, turning towards a coat rack on the wall, depositing his hat on an available hook as well. They stared at each other again, his thinning hair doing nothing to diminish her body and soul's response to him, and she tucked away one stubborn streak of gray, attempting to hide it as well as she could.

"It's good to see you, Mary," he murmured, taking a step in her direction.

"It's good to see you, too," she breathed, clearing her throat as she pasted on a smile she hoped could still fool him. "How are things at Downton?"

He followed her to an arm chair and sat across from her, his eyes fluttering as nervously as her own.

"Quiet," he sighed, and her chest constricted, the pain of her father's death still near to her even after these eight years. "Lonely."

Her heart paused as she swallowed.

"So things didn't work out with Miss Lane Fox?" she questioned, and he shook his head, somewhat resembling a repentant puppy. Lightening flashed, thunder rocking the floor beneath them as hail pinged against pipes and panes.

"No," he answered, scooting forwards on the cushion. "In fact, I think you could classify it as an unmitigated disaster."

She smiled then, unsure of what to do with her hands, uncertain of just why he had paid her a call.

"How is Bobby?" he asked, meeting her eyes square on. "Is he faring alright?"

"He's still working with intelligence," she returned, her shoulders slumping under the weight of constant worry. "He's not allowed to tell me anything about what he does, only that he believes it will eventually turn the tide of the war."

"Let's hope he's right," Matthew murmured as he stared at widows streaked with rain. "I'm frankly impressed that the powers that be in British intelligence were smart enough to snatch him up, as young as he is."

"Bobby has always been older than his age," she mused. "A fact which has been both a blessing and a curse for his mother." Her gaze grew distant, her mind brushing the perimeters of time.

"Geniuses usually are," he noted softly, somehow closer to her than he had been just seconds ago. He gazed at her then, holding her without touching in a manner they'd perfected over time. "I worry about you being here in London, what with the raids and all. I wish you'd reconsider and come back home with me to Downton."

"It's not been my home for a long time," she returned, watching as he stood and moved to sit beside her on the sofa, her fingers going cold. It hadn't felt like home since Carson had passed, her father's death only expanding the internal hole created by deep loss.

"It has always been your home," he argued gently. "And it always will be. I made you that promise years ago, if you remember."

"We've promised each other many things, Matthew," she sighed, shifting her weight towards him unconsciously. "And we haven't exactly had the best record in keeping them, you know."

His eyes fogged then, creasing in a regret she recognized.

"That promise still stands," he breathed, reaching out, taking her hand with a marked hesitation. She closed her eyes to his touch, absorbing the feel of him, allowing it to wash over her like a forbidden nectar, both a balm and a curse on her life.

"Who would watch after Bobby?" she questioned, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

"He's a man now, Mary," he stated. "And he worries about you as much as I do."

"He contacted you?" she returned as realization struck her from behind. "About having me move back to Downton?"

"He did," Matthew admitted with a shrug. "You're his mother, for God's sake, and neither of us likes the thought of you being in harm's way."

"All of London is in harm's way," she sighed, her mind rolling out of her comfort zone. "Why should I be offered special treatment?"

She heard him swallow, felt his grip tighten, saw the soft lines on his forehead crease in concern.

"You know why," he breathed, the thunder now fading into irrelevance. "God, Mary, isn't it time we stopped dancing around each other like overgrown children?"

Her tongue was thick, her throat tight, and she sucked in air as if she were drowning, blinking rapidly to push back pooling moisture in her eyes.

"What happened with Mable Lane Fox?" she whispered as his gaze dropped to their joined hands, half needing an answer, half dreading it.

"The same thing that happened with Lavinia and Miss Hamilton," he replied, his voice cracking as it had when he was younger. He then caught her eye, and she couldn't look away from him. Not again. Not this time. "What happened with Richard and Tony?"

"Do you really want to know?" she questioned, feeling partially disjointed from her body.

Then foreheads touched, thumbs stroking as warmth engulfed her insides.

"Come to Downton," he murmured, and she leaned into him, drawn into his circumference with no desire to fight back. "Stay with me. Let me take care of you for once in our bloody lives."

She was being sucked in, the weight of inevitability pressing against her from all sides, the current threatening to carry her away into the life she'd never had but always wanted.

"You know what will happen if I do," she breathed, and he nodded, the thunder rumbling over London no more than an echo to her ears.

"I do," he whispered, and her hand touched his cheek, both of them aware, both of them older, both of them tired of running from what began in another lifetime.


End file.
